


Zev and Dev: Adventures in the Midst of a Blight

by EmberMahariel



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:49:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberMahariel/pseuds/EmberMahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weather prevents progress on the march to Denerim, so the party decides to take a rest. Zevran and Devnet reminisce about old times, and discuss what could happen in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rainy Day Respite

The rain beats a soft rhythm on the canvas of my tent. I wake from cold, harsh nightmares in the warm haven my lover's embrace. I turn to face him: eyes closed, tattoos accentuating the beautiful curves of his cheeks and jaw, soft breath spilling from his long nose, a whisper of a smile pulling at his very kissable lips.  


I bury myself deeper into his chest, skin against skin, more vulnerable now than ever. I feel his arms tighten around me, and he wakes. 

"Hmmm..." He groans, smiling, lost in the blissful moment. "You know, it's not often I wake to welcome rain showering the tent I share with an extravagant woman." Zevran laughs. 

"You're very charming in the morning. You know this?" I kiss his lips gingerly. 

"I have been told that I'm charming, yes." He pushes a stray hair from my face, gazing at me in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. We kiss again before getting up, helping each other dress, then step out into the rainy campsite. 

Our band of unlikely friends is gathered around the fire pit. It seems as though they were all waiting for me. Hand in hand, Zevran and I walk to the others. 

"Good morning, friends." I say cordially. "I hope you all slept well." Most groan in response. Zev and I look at each other, knowing smiles on our faces. Leliana hides her laugh behind her hand, Alistair blushes intensely, Morrigan waves it away in an air of disgust. 

"I do not understand," Sten begins, "how two people can take part in such an activity and be so...loud about it. Not to mention lengthy." Leliana's chuckle grows into a full laugh. 

"Though I have many things to say about this, I'm not going to say a word." Wynne tells us as she looks away from Zevran and I. 

"Polishing the footstones again, elf?" Oghren asks Zevran with a deep, throaty laugh. 

"I promise we made them shine, my fine Dwarven friend." Zevran says with a wink, his fingers still entwined with mine. 

"Yes. Well." I interrupt, avoiding the subject. "Last night's...shenanigans are in the past--"

Zevran interrupts me this time: "Unless they happen again tonight." His sly smile is irresistible, but to avoid making others uncomfortable, I resist the urge to kiss him. 

"Anyway," I continue, "as I'm sure you all have noticed, it is raining. Now, call me what you wish, but I'd rather not travel in such conditions. Soggy equipment, wet armor, rain getting into our boots... nothing about that sounds pleasant. I suggest we stay here in camp until the storm blows over. Knowing Ferelden, that could be anywhere from an hour to a week. I think this one will last only for a day, then we can move on. The rest would be welcome at any rate. What say you?"

Everyone looks around awkwardly, no one wanting to speak first. Finally, Zevran speaks up.

"I am perfectly content with staying here for today." 

"Though I doubt you'll get much 'rest,' eh, elf?" Oghren jests. Zev says nothing, but I see clearly the familiar glint of mischief in his gold eyes. 

Sten is the next to speak. "I only follow your lead. Though I may not agree, I will comply with whatever your decision may be." 

"Would you prefer to go, Sten?" I ask. 

"I prefer a decision to be made. That is all." The behemoth of a man stays quiet after that. 

"Okay... Oghren? What do you think?" 

"I think that if we're staying, Zevran shouldn't be the only one with a pretty woman in his tent. How'd you like to join me for a little fun, Morrigan?"  
Morrigan scoffs, then walks to the other side of the fire, away from the drunken dwarf. 

"Sten and Oghren: indifferent." I sigh, clearly getting nowhere. Zev unravels his fingers from mine, and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close. "Alistair? What do you think?"

Alistair sighs heavily, running his fingers through his hair. "I, personally, would like to get to Denerim as soon as possible."

"But Alistair, we wouldn't get to Denerim today anyway. What's the use in getting everyone and everything soaking wet to make a small amount of headway?"

"We'd make a small amount of headway. That's worth it to me." 

"I'm sure you won't be saying that after walking all day, soaked to your skin, puddles in your boots--"

"If I may," Wynne cuts me off. "I think Devnet has a point. It would be good to rest." 

"Alright, alright!" Alistair throws his hands in the air, defeated. "We'll stay until the storm blows over. I'll be in my tent sleeping if anyone needs me." Alistair turns and walks to his tent. 

"Well, that's settled, I guess." I am admittedly taken aback by Alistair's behavior, but he has already left, and if he wants to discuss something with me, I trust he'll do just that.

One by one, each party member breaks away from the fire pit, a thin trail of smoke reaching into the sky, the ghost of the flames that were there last night. Soon, it's only me and Zevran standing by the pit. He steps behind me, wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. I feel his chest rise with a deep breath, then fall gently as he exhales. We stand in the sky's drizzle, basking in the other's presence. My mind wanders far from where we are. 

"Hm." I mutter. 

"What is it, my dear?" Zev whispers. 

"The rain just makes me wistful. I can't help but wonder what would have become of me if certain things hadn’t happened; I was betrothed, after all!”

“Yes, but I don’t know if that is really a good life for you to lead, my dear Warden. Marriage is a very docile commitment, and you are more of a spitfire than I think you realize.” 

“Oh, I know I’m a spitfire, Zevran, never doubt that.” I laugh. My demeanor reverts back to contemplative. “I don’t know, I think married life could suit me very well, under the right circumstances. I would want to marry for love; any other reason just seems foolish to me. But the idea of eventually settling down, adopting children, making pies, living in a modest little cottage in a modest little village… with the right person, I think I could make it work.” 

“Perhaps you are right, my dear. Under the right circumstances, with the right person, marriage can be a beautiful thing. But may I ask, why adopt children? Can you not have any of your own?”

I sigh before answering. “The Taint. It makes it either impossible for me to bear children, or too dangerous to do so--I’m not sure yet. Though considering our many...shall we say...escapades, the thought of me being with child hasn’t even crossed my mind. I still have my monthly bleeding, so either we have impeccable timing, or the Taint makes me infertile. I don’t know. Anyway, after receiving the Taint, one only has between 25 and 30 years to live; that means that any of my children would be born with the Taint, giving them a lifespan of only 25 to 30 years before they lose their sanity. That is not a life I would want for my children. There are always plenty of elven alienages that we could adopt from. If we wanted to, that is.”

Zevran is quiet for a moment. “...We?” 

I suddenly realize my mistake, and begin retracting my words immediately. “I...I mean ‘I.’ I could adopt from elven alienages. I don’t know where you’d be by then. Dead, maybe. Or... I don’t know… I… I… Oh, Maker.” I feel myself blushing more than Alistair does, and cover my face with my hands. I feel Zevran’s arms leave my waist, he steps away from me, and I feel more alone in that moment than ever before. 

“My dear Devnet,” Zevran breathes. He has stepped around to face me, pulling my hands away from my flushed face, placing his hands on the sides of my face instead. “I would love to adopt elven orphan children with you. I would love to live in a modest little cottage in a modest little village while you make pies, and I’ll play with the children and the dog. It’ll be marvelous fun.” 

“Don’t mock me, Zev, please. I think that would be a nice life, but I know I’m not cut out for it.”

Zevran laughs, sincerely. “Do you not see, my love, that I am entirely serious? Once all this is over, I’d like to stay with you, settle down somewhere. Maybe, we’ll even get married.” 

I look into his eyes, and notice that there is no sign of his usual jesting fire there. He is very serious. “Really? You’d want to settle down with me? Adopt children? Live a quiet life?”

“To be honest, my beautiful one, nothing sounds more appealing.” He kisses me then, gently, but I can practically taste the love he harbors for me. After we pull away, he takes me into his arms, holding me close to his chest. 

“Zevran,” I hesitate. I’ve never said this before, to anyone, but I know that it’s true, and I have to tell him. 

“Yes, Dev?” 

“I love you.” His embrace tightens around me, and I look up at him. Though he doesn’t say anything, I can see the words he wishes to speak moving across his face, through his gaze, in his kiss. 

 

I love you, too.


	2. The Attack on Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night is quiet, but not for long. After the fight, Zevran and Devnet must make a less-than-easy decision.

The dreams come as usual. There is nothing new to the haunting images reeling through my head, much like the taint running through my veins. But tonight, there is something different; an entire level of vividness that I haven’t experienced before. In my mind’s eye, I see a Hurlock lunging toward me, blade swung high over his head. As he brings it down toward me, I hear his sinister laugh. The second his blade should have met my skin, I jolt awake. I see the inside of my tent, my pack, weapons, armor strewn about. Zevran has his arm draped over my waist, sleeping soundly-- hopefully his nightmares aren’t plaguing him tonight. 

Something feels...uneasy about the cool Ferelden eve. I can’t help but feel as though I’m being watched. Sitting up, I glance back at Zev, still contentedly asleep. 

“Zev?” I whisper to him, just making sure he isn’t pretending to sleep. 

His lack of acknowledgement does little to soothe my uneasy feeling. 

I stand up from the bedroll, moving as quietly and as little as possible to avoid waking my handsome elven lover. Before stepping out of the tent, I arm myself with my two blades: a longsword enchanted with lightning, and a smaller--but still practical--dagger. It feels odd leaving the tent with just my clothing on, but I didn’t have time to deal with my armor; trying to find it in the dark strewn about with all of Zevran’s armor alone would have taken too much time. I step out into the camp, and Alistair is also walking around, also armed. 

“Alistair?” I ask. “You felt it too, then?” I walk toward him.

“Yes,” he nods, looking around suspiciously. “Something is definitely...off.” 

I assess our surroundings. There are only trees to be seen around the border of our campsite, but Maker only knows what kind of monsters lurk behind the boughs. “No one else seems to have noticed, though. Zevran is still sound asleep. I can hear Oghren snoring from here, and he’s at least three yards off.” 

Both Alistair and I force a laugh at my attempt at humor. The moment is too dire, too ominous, to take pleasure in a well-meant joke. 

Alistair’s face falls suddenly. He grasps his head as though he’s in a great amount of pain. 

“Do...do you...do you hear that?” He strains. My reply is rolling off of my tongue when I know exactly what he’s talking about. 

Darkspawn whispers bounce off the walls of my skull, louder, less intelligible, indecipherable. It’s incapacitating. I squeeze my eyes shut, then realize I can sense the location of the small army come to attack us. 

“They’re coming from the northwest,” I tell Alistair, my eyes still closed. I hear him fall to his knees in pain, and though I wish to help him, I have to find my own way through this before I can assist my fellow Grey Warden. I listen, working through the pain and discomfort, then I hear the first soldier plow through the trees. 

Five...I think to myself, counting down the seconds before attack. Four…

“Alistair!” I yell, trying to get his attention anywhere else besides the obvious pain he was in; the whispers must have been trying to tear him apart from the inside out. 

Three… I open my eyes, my grip tightening on the hilts of my blades. 

Two… So close, but not close enough…not yet…

One… I turn around, battle cry exploding from my petite elf body. I bring both swords up, and go to strike the darkspawn threatening me. He’s tall--gigantic, in fact. I seem to miss the fact that he is also armed, and that I have a blind spot where I cannot always see what my opponent is doing. A searing, white-hot pain penetrates me then, as his underhand sword sweeps up through the air and pierces my belly. I gasp, obviously stunned by the pain, but adrenaline overcomes me. I know I have to protect Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana, Sten, Oghren, Wynne, and...Zevran. I place my foot on the Hurlock’s knee, sweeping my swords upward, cutting a deep gash into his neck. I push his body away, his sword pulling back through my flesh before clanging to the ground. I turn to look at my tent where Zevran was so peacefully sleeping not moments before, hoping that a darkspawn rogue didn’t enter to kill him. Looking back where Alistair was, I see he’s standing now, fighting three darkspawn with all his might, but he doesn’t seem to have been wounded. 

Again, I assess the camp, overrun with darkspawn soldiers, and all of my companions fighting with everything they can muster. In a panic, I cannot see Zev. I look frantically to my right, to my left, toward Morrigan’s camp in a smaller clearing twenty yards off--Morrigan. She’s there alone, and though capable, would not be able to hold off darkspawn by herself. Locating Alistair in the hustle, he strikes down a genlock before making brief eye contact with me. 

“Morrigan!” I shout to him. He nods quickly, a light of determination igniting in his eyes. 

“On it.” He tells me, while he turns to save our valued apostate. 

Wynne heals those who become wounded; Oghren laughs while he strikes down his foes; Sten looks as stern as ever, not minding the fact he has been showered with darkspawn blood; Leliana offers a word of praise to the Maker upon felling one of her enemies. Losing blood and feeling my consciousness waning away, I still search for Zevran. 

There. He’s just stepped out of the tent, dueling a hurlock. Unlike me, he didn’t bother to make sure he was decent before stepping out to battle, and though he has breeches on, he’s facing dangerous enemies with no shirt. Under any other circumstances, I would be relishing the sight of him handling weapons shirtless, but between my worsening pain and the knowledge that my lover’s life is threatened, I’m not really reveling in his lack of protection. I’m relieved to see that he’s alive, but that relief is quickly extinguished when I notice even more darkspawn melting through the trees, headed straight for my love. I run to his side as quickly as possible despite my injuries, then feel Wynne’s healing power patch up some of the wound. When I get to Zevran, I immediately assist him in defeating the mass of evil that has invaded. Of course, being the kind of person he is, he begins to banter. 

“Where did you go, my darling?” He asks, killing a genlock. “I woke to empty arms and ears full of clanging swords.” 

“Sorry about that, love,” I shove my sword through a hurlock alpha. “I thought I heard something lurking outside of camp, and I had to investigate.” My wound opens again, emphasizing the pain. I gasp quickly, but Zevran doesn’t notice. Again, there is Wynne, healing me ever so slightly, just enough to keep me alive. When I haul my longsword through the air, however, I feel the wound open yet again. 

“Wynne, stop healing me!” I shout, praying she hears my pitiful yell. Zevran glances over, confused, and that’s when he notices my shirt soaked in blood, my ghostly pale complexion, and ragged breaths. He turns back to face the rest of the darkspawn, screaming with rage as he kills each of them one by one, in rapid succession. Everyone ends their last opponent, and I drop my weapons. The pain was too much to bear, and the weapons were so heavy. Alistair and Morrigan run over, seeing if all was well. Wynne rushes over to me, examining the wound. 

“Please...stop…” I beg Wynne. “It hurts. It hurts so much. I can’t keep opening the wound like this. It hurts so much, Wynne…” I trail off, beginning to cry. There seems to be a blue light emanating from the healer’s hands. I feel a slight warmth, but then I become very lightheaded. 

“Stop it!” Zevran yells, running toward me. I reach out for him, then fall into his arms. His warm skin is a comfort to me, because I keep getting colder by the second. “She is begging you to stop, Wynne. Can’t you see she’s in pain?” 

“Yes, I can, Zevran. That’s why I’m trying to help her.” Wynne, as always, is cool and collected; unwavering, despite her own exhaustion. “What happened, Devnet?” 

I recount the tale as best I can, considering I’m bleeding profusely, and I can barely breathe. 

“I see,” Wynne says after a moment. “Can you breathe?”

“Not...well…” I gasp. “Every...breath...I feel...my lungs… fill with...blood.”

“This does not bode well, I’m afraid.” The healer’s brow wrinkles, her eyes fill with concern. Zevran, knowing the signs of death all too well, becomes frantic. 

“There has to be a way for you to help her, Wynne. There has to be!” 

“It’s...okay...Zevran. I...I’m okay…” My attempt to reassure my anxious companion does little to nothing. 

“There is one spell I know of, though you’re not going to like it, Zevran.” 

“W-w-what is it, Wynne?” My pain is getting worse, my skin is getting colder, my grip on Zevran’s hand is getting tighter; I’m holding on to him as tightly as I am holding on to my life. 

“I can render you unconscious, thus putting you out of your pain, hopefully, and I can then begin healing you little by little. Eventually, should you do your part, you will come back. But this spell has had odd side effects in the past, and I’m not sure if you or your lover are willing to risk it.” 

“What...is...the catch?” I know there’s always something to make a sweet deal a little more bitter. 

“You have to go into the Fade, Devnet. You have to fight your way out. According to certain accounts, people have faced demons, terrible things that motivated them to leave. Those same accounts also tell that there were times when they never wanted to leave; the Fade spirits had constructed a reality so beautiful that they didn’t ever want to return to what we all consider reality. Some were lucky to clear their minds, realize that they were in the Fade, and continue their fight out. Others...were not so lucky.” 

“What about the strange effects you mentioned, Wynne?” Zevran asks for me, sparing me the effort. 

“It depends on the person. Some people have a difficult time differentiating what is real and what is not. Others, however, return to think that every face they see is a mask hiding a demon underneath, much like that fellow Cullen at the Circle. You remember him, don’t you, Dev?”

I manage a nod in response. 

“So, Devnet, Zevran, what do you think? Is it worth it?” The smallest tinge of anxiety creeps into Wynne’s voice. 

“No.” Zevran says immediately. I look up at him, curious. “I do not want to risk losing you. I’ve lost so much already: the Crows, Taliesen...Rina. I cannot lose you too, Dev. I cannot.”

“Zevran…” I try to muster the strength for this portion. “I can’t die. I-- I have...to save...Ferelden, remember? And...besides...if I die...that puts...Alistair in charge...I don’t want him...to...lead…” I turn my head to glance at Alistair. “Sorry, friend…” I try to smile, hoping Alistair knows I mean well. “I’ll...come...back...for you. I don’t...want...to leave...you...alone. You...deserve...com-panion-ship.” I curl up for a moment as a wave of pain overwhelms me. My breathing is becoming even more ragged, and I feel as though my friends can hear the blood gurgling in my lungs. I gesture for Zevran to put his ear near my mouth, so I can tell him something for no one else’s ears. “Zevran...Arainai...I...love...you.” He kisses me in response, robbing me of my waning breath. I look at Wynne. “Do it, Wynne. I’ll...be...okay.” 

“Alright, then. Good luck, Devnet. You will need it.” She begins to spin her staff. It’s dizzying, and I cannot watch it. Instead, I turn my gaze to Zevran, who, to my great surprise, has tears in his eyes. I feebly reach up and wipe away a tear that spilled onto his cheek, and he leans into my hand. Resting his forehead against mine, he looks into my soul, and his are the last eyes I see before mine are hooded with black.


	3. The Fade: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of Maker-knows-how-many demons Devnet must face within the Fade before being reunited with her friends and lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: a hint of aggression. It might not be considered much, but I want you readers to feel safe and comfortable reading this. Continue, and enjoy! Any constructive criticism/critiques are welcome in the comments section, or if you'd like to just say hi, feel free to do so! Thanks, lovelies!

My eyes open, and the pain is indeed gone, just as Wynne said. Sitting up, I notice all of my friends are standing in the hall where I have been lying; they are all drinking, laughing, smiling, enjoying themselves thoroughly. I find Zevran in one of the corners of the large hall in which we’re celebrating. He’s dressed elegantly--as opposed to his usual leather armor-- holding a glass of wine, speaking to two beautiful noblewomen. I reluctantly tap him on the shoulder, and he turns to face me. 

“Ah, there you are, my dear,” he says to me, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t join us. Your dress is marvelous.” He gestures to my entire being, and I look down, expecting to see my armor. Instead, I am dressed in an extravagant gown: red velvet is the main fabric, with gold embroidery decorating the bodice. It is cut very low, exposing much of my chest, and my hair is pulled up in tight curls. I feel...odd. It’s so strange to not be in armor. 

“I...I don’t know where I am, Zevran.” My head hurts, and I don’t know why. Perhaps I’ve had too much wine?

“You’re at the Royal Palace in Denerim, darling. We have ended the Blight, the archdemon is dead, and we are finally together.” He sets his glass down, turning away from the noblewomen. They glare at me, jealous that this handsome elf is my lover. Zevran puts each of his arms around me, and pulls me close. He stares at me for a moment, an adoring look in his eyes. He kisses me, but there is something almost too perfect about it. 

“The Blight is over?” I ask after pulling away. 

“Yes, love.” Zevran answers. 

“And everyone is alive?” This seems too good to be true. 

Zevran looks around, then back at me. “I know it seems too good to be true, but yes, everyone is alive. There were minimal casualties, all thanks to you.” He kisses me again. 

Something is still not right. Minimal casualties? Everyone is alive? I know I should be grateful, but I cannot revel in this supposed victory when I swear it was only yesterday that the Blight was still a threat. 

I find Alistair amongst the crowd, telling jokes as usual. I excuse myself from Zevran’s company, telling him to keep an eye on me to make sure nobody assassinates me. He laughs cordially before saying he’ll be keeping an eye on me, and not just to make sure no one has a clear shot. Smiling as best as I can despite my own uneasy feeling, I make my way to my fellow Grey Warden. 

“Alistair?” I ask. He turns, not a scratch on him. I could have sworn he had a small scar on his cheek yesterday… 

“There you are, Dev. I’ve been wondering about you.” 

He has a lightness about his demeanor that I’ve never seen. It seems authentic, when his witty lines always seemed to mask some deeper sadness. 

“Alistair, did we really defeat the archdemon?” I ask. 

“Well, that’s a silly question, Devnet. Of course we did!” He smiles, then goes back to speaking to strangers. I look around at the accolades surrounding me. Finding an exit, I make my way through the crowd as stealthily as possible. I suddenly feel as though I need to escape from this place, lest I suffocate. My skirts are heavy, and my bodice is too tight. Reaching for the door, I place my hand on the doorknob. It is comfortingly cold against my warm skin. As I open the door, Zevran stops me. 

“Leaving us so soon, my beautiful Warden?”

I’m taken aback by his sudden presence. “It’s very warm in here,” I feign discomfort from the heat, when really, I am just itching to get out of here. A part of me knows this isn’t Zevran, or Alistair, or anyone real. They’re all just an illusion. The majority of my being tells me that this shouldn’t be real. I would remember defeating the archdemon, and I don’t. But how wonderful it would be to finally be at ease, without the darkspawn threat constantly breathing down my neck? There is a small voice in my head telling me to give in, to accept this as real, but I just can’t. 

“It is, surely, very warm.” 

“I just need some air, love. Then I’ll be back. I promise.” I smile, then go to leave. 

Zevran grabs my arm, an act of possession and aggressiveness that is not his personality. He is not possessive of me or anyone, yet here he is, pulling on my arm, telling me not to leave. 

“Devnet, I can’t let you leave.” Zev’s demeanor becomes very sinister, and there is an ominous tone to his voice. 

I turn to face him, using all of my cunning and powers of persuasion. “Zevran, I will be back shortly. I promise. But if I don’t get out of here, I’ll faint. I just need some air.” Resting my hand on his forearm, I slide toward him and kiss him, though it doesn’t feel like the Zev I know. I would recognize the taste of him, the feeling of his lips, and this is not it. “I’ll be back very quickly, my dear. Just wait for me.”

“Alright, Devnet,” Zevran begins, letting go of my arm. “But if you haven’t returned with haste, I will come find you.” Such malice in his voice! This is assuredly not the Zevran Arainai with whom I have fallen irrevocably in love. Aggressive possession, lips that taste of vinegar, and a terrifying glint in his eye are not the traits of the man I love. My Zevran had me choose where I wanted to go, who I wanted to be with. He does not force me to be his, I choose to be, just as he chooses to be wholeheartedly mine. His kiss tasted like passion, and the sweetest bliss. He never spoke with such malice; his words always enveloped me in love, tenderness, care. Though his eyes have a certain glint in them, it was never so terrifying--it always inflicted the impulse to be alone with him, vulnerable, unprotected, naked… But not this Zevran. His glinting eye inflicts the impulse to get as far away from him as possible. I had convinced him to let me go, so I turned and walked out the door, leaving my lover’s imposter to the mercy of the jealous noblewomen--though as far as I’m concerned, they can have that version of him; I know a far better elf who awaits me at home. 

Home. As I run through the castle, trying to navigate its many corridors, I try to remember how I got here. My mind is foggy, and my head still hurts. Home. The last place I considered home was camp, with Zevran, and the rest of our companions. I was there last night, sleeping, settled into Zev’s bed. The dreams… the Taint… the darkspawn… 

That’s it! There was a darkspawn attack on the camp last night. I was wounded badly, and Wynne sent me into the Fade, so she could heal me. I had to fight my way out of this. 

"It’s all a dream, Devnet." I tell myself. "It’s all a dream. Zevran waits for you when you wake, but you have to wake up, first." 

I had been making my way around the castle as quickly as possible without looking suspicious. Being a rogue, I am very good at stealth, slipping into places where I am not seen, and if I am seen, I do not stand out. A straggling servant wipes down a table in the hallway, and I glide past her. I can feel her eyes turn to me, burning a hole in my back. I do not turn to look at her, unsure that she would leave me alone in peace if I glanced in her direction. 

“Miss?” the servant girl asks. I try to walk past her, try to avoid her. “Miss, is there something I can help you find?” I hesitate before turning to her. 

I am expecting to see a demonic creature looking at me, but she is just another servant. Well, that’s what the Fade is having me believe, anyway. 

I smile slightly before answering. “No, thank you. Just wandering around.” I lie to the servant, but covering it up so that, should things lean in my favor, she won’t ask any more questions. 

The servant girl looks at me with questions in her eyes before cordially telling me that if I need anything, she could more than likely provide it. I bow my head courteously, then turn to leave. 

Finding a door, I run to it, hoping, praying, it will get me out of here. When I open the door, I am faced with a vast darkness, and a bone-chilling cold that wraps its fingers around my skin. Sighing deeply, needing to fight my way out as I recall Wynne telling me, I step into the cold darkness, not knowing what demons await me there.


	4. The Fade: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devnet made it out of the first section of the Fade with few obstacles. But this section is much more harrowing. Can Devnet endure such emotional trauma?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: violence, and graphic images.   
> I tried to keep this as visually discreet as possible, while still getting the point across. Even so, this was a dark section, and again, I want my readers to feel safe and comfortable reading my work. If you have an extremely squeamish stomach, I would suggest reading no further. If you do brave this chapter, I hope you can enjoy it for what it's worth; this was a very emotional chapter for me to write, as it is based off of my own nightmares, but that is not the point.   
> Should you have any critiques and/or constructive criticism to add, I'd appreciate it. If you'd like to say hi, feel free! I'll respond to as many comments as I can. Anyway, enjoy!

Everything is cold and black. I feel a draft from somewhere, but it’s so dark I can’t fathom the location from where the cold air is coming. I feel suddenly free, and run my hands down the front of my body, feeling my usual armor, as opposed to the heavy, monstrous garment I was wearing in the last room. I turn back, feeling for the door from which I entered this dark prison, but I find only air. If there was a door there, it is gone now. I turn back, steeling myself for what I will face here, then take a step.

Nothing happens, and that slightly shocks me; I was expecting to fall into an abyss of some sort, but I am grateful that my boot has landed on solid ground. Tentative, taking each step cautiously, I have my hands in front of me, feeling for obstacles. I reach behind my head, hand hitting the cold hilt of my sword--a comfort in such a place. My hands find my thigh holsters for my daggers, and I am greeted with both hilts. At least I’m armed, though in such a blackness, I’m not sure how much good I’ll be.

I am walking along in this tentative motion when I hear a voice calling my name.

“Devnet?” It is a question, a whisper, a desperate sound. But I recognize the accent all the same. Resisting the urge to call out to my lover is difficult; I want nothing more than to be in his arms now, but I know that I must face this before I can face him again.

I see a dim glimmer around a corner, and I step around a stone to see where the light is coming from. There are torches lighting the way down a long corridor made entirely of stone. At the end of the corridor, I barely see that it opens into a much larger chamber. Worried, cautious, but curious, I walk toward the chamber. The sound of my steps bounce off the walls, and I step even more lightly than before; trying to be unseen, unheard.

Finally making my way to the end of the corridor, I see strange contraptions like wheels in the chamber. These wheels are upright, facing away from me, forming a circle. I begin to walk between these wheels, looking to see what sits on the faces of them. It is a gruesome sight: bodies strapped to the torture mechanisms, sprawled, naked, bloody, most of them dead. Skin is torn away from most of their limbs, and there is one woman whose skin had been entirely removed from her torso. I shudder from the sight, shivering from the cold that seems to intensify here, and continue my way to the center of the circle.

As I step between all these tortured souls, I begin to recognize them. The closer I journey to the center, the more I see of the victims’ faces; they are people whom I’ve encountered on my journey. The elves from the alienage; people from Lothering; Arl Eamon, Lady Isolde, and Connor from Redcliffe; Bann Teagan. The second from the innermost row, I am met with the bodies of my father, Cyrion; my cousins Soris, and Shianni; my betrothed Nelaros, who was killed brutally in front of my eyes; and my mother. I sigh heavily before stepping into the center of the circle, knowing who I will find strapped to the wheels of the innermost row.

My assumptions are correct: Alistair, Leliana, Wynne, Morrigan, Sten, Oghren, even my dog are all strapped to these torture devices. Most of them are barely breathing, and I walk around to each of their wheels, reaching out for them, whispering apologies. I feel tears stinging my eyes, and try to swallow them back. The only comfort I experience is not seeing Zevran on one of these devices.

That relief is very short-lived.

I see a hooded figure, cloaked in a black garment covering him from head to toe. He is fidgeting with some sort of contraption, and I see that the ropes he is pulling are bringing up the last wheel to complete this circle. Feeling my chest fill with dread at knowing who will be strapped there, awaiting torture, my breath catches, and I do not breathe again until I meet his eyes.

Zevran, like everyone else, is strapped to the wheel with his arms and legs spread far apart. He is mostly naked, save a pair of undergarments hiding his manhood. His blond head is hanging low, obviously exhausted. Luckily, there seem to be no major wounds on his body, but I have the sinking suspicion that that will change very shortly.

I watch the hooded figure hoist the wheel until it’s completely upright. Then, not having noticed me, the figure turns around, and in a rough voice, he says, “Ah, Devnet. You’ve joined us. How lovely for you to come to this occasion. I am so happy you could be here. This is an important moment for you and Zevran, isn’t it?” The demon laughs a bit, and I shudder.

Slowly, painstakingly, Zevran lifts his head to make eye contact with me. “Devnet?” It is barely a whisper, my name straining against his vocal chords. I run to him, reaching up, trying to comfort him with my touch as I apologize profusely for having done him wrong.

“Ah-ah-ah,” the figure warns. “The fun is about to begin. Please take your hands off of the selected participant.” I can feel the figure’s glare burrowing in my back. I kiss Zevran’s bare belly, his muscles taut, his entire body quivering from the cold and frightened anticipation. He has endured torture before, but I feel a knot of dread twist in my stomach anyway. Just because he’s endured before doesn’t mean I want him to endure pain like that ever again.

I step back, the hooded demon taking my place in front of Zevran. Looking over the demon, I notice his hands are only skeletal; any skin or tendons that may have been there have long since rotted off. In his left hand, the demon holds a whip. Not just any whip, though, a long cord that splits into nine smaller cords from what I can see, and at each end of the leather strap, a razor blade is fastened. I gasp, even more frightened now than I was before.

“Alright, Zevran, are you ready?” The demon has a hint of excitement in his voice, though his words are mostly dripping with sadism.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Zevran says, bearing this better than anyone else could.

Without replying, the demon wields the whip behind him, then pulls it through the air with a loud crack, though the more distressing sound is the blades cutting through Zevran’s skin. My would-be assassin arches against the wheel as much as he’s able, lines decorating his chest, blood dripping from the lacerations. The demon goes again, then thrice more in rapid succession; being sure to cleave skin from bone with every swing. Zev does not cry out, however; his face contorts in expressions of anguish and unimaginable pain, but not once does he allow a scream to escape his lips.

I try to cry out to the demon to stop. In my mind, I’m screaming as loudly as my vocal cords can muster: “Stop! Stop hurting him like this!” But those sounds are not echoing off the walls, because I am frozen in shock to the point where I can’t scream. I can’t even breathe.

Though Zev has been holding up very well, there is one time when the whip meets his skin and he opens his mouth, emitting a scream so loud, so terrible, it would curdle even a darkspawn’s blood. I feel my heart stop for a second, hurting just as much as he is, wanting to do something, but unsure and unable to move.

Zevran continues screaming, and I begin to make out what he’s saying.

“Dev! Make it stop!” He cries, sobs pushing out more blood than what is already leaking from his wounds. “I… I can’t take it anymore. Please, just make it stop. I can’t do this.” He rests his head against the wheel, and continues to cry. I glare at the demon, pulling my swords from their sheaths on my back, and run one of my blades through his heart. He gasps before falling to the ground, fist still clenched around the whip, ends now drenched in my lover’s blood.

“You evil son of a bitch.” I manage through clenched teeth. Once the demon lies dead, I run to the wheel, trying to comfort Zevran. Carefully untying his feet, then his arms, I lower him to the ground, blood everywhere. This strong elf who tried to kill me, and ever since has spent all his time and efforts trying to protect me, crumbles in my arms. We go to the floor, and I hold him against me, my hands travelling along every inch of his back, trying to calm him down.

“I’m so sorry, Zev,” I manage through my own tears. “I’m so sorry.” Pressing a kiss into his hair, I rock him back and forth.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” Zevran finally asks me, the most heart-wrenching tone in his voice. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

My tears threaten to overwhelm me, but I have to be strong for him, since I failed so magnificently just now. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe, Zev. I wanted to run my sword through that demon much sooner than I did, but I couldn’t move. I tried.” He pulls back, looking at me with a ferociousness I haven’t seen him with before--except on the day he tried to kill me.

“That’s not good enough.” He has clear malice in his voice. I try to kiss him, but he pulls away from me. “You should have stopped him. If you loved me the way you say you do, you would have stopped him.” Slowly, with obvious agony, Zevran stands and turns from me, limping.

“Zev, wait!” I cry out for him, reaching a hand out, covered in his blood. He doesn’t turn to face me again, however, and I watch him continue between the wheels, then he vanishes from my sight.

“I do love you.” I whimper. Finally, after fighting them for so long, my tears stream down my cheeks without resolve.

“Devnet,” a weak voice calls to me. I turn, looking for the source of the voice, and see Alistair on the wheel directly across from where I’m sitting, head lifted slightly, breathing labored, but then I realize he is the one who spoke. I stand, hesitantly, the entire front of my body covered in Zevran’s blood. Slowly stepping to Alistair, I cup a hand around his face, and lift his head so I can make eye contact with him.

“I’m so sorry, Alistair,” I whisper. “I wish I could have saved you all. I know you are all here because of me. I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Devnet. And it’s alright. I forgive you. Even if Zevran doesn’t, I forgive you. I will always forgive you.” My friend leans his cheek into my hand, and I look up at him adoringly. Though I could never love him in the same way I love Zevran, I still love this man, my fellow Grey Warden.

“Thank you, Alistair.” I whisper to him, a fresh wave of tears stinging my eyes.

Alistair goes limp, then, and I realize all too slowly that he has finally succumbed to his wounds. At least he isn’t suffering anymore.

Circling around myself, I stare at all the corpses of my companions, wishing I could have saved them, knowing that against the Fade spirits, I would have had no chance. Remembering what Wynne said about fighting my way out, I decide I need to move on, then follow the trail of blood Zevran left as he walked away from me.

 


	5. The Fade, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most harrowing part of the Fade for Devnet. Though the last bout was difficult, this section brings memories Devnet has not consciously brought up in many years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Graphic images, violence  
> Again, I try to not be too explicit here, but there's fighting, so I had to describe some of it. Violence also ties in with the fighting toward the end of the chapter. 
> 
> I had fun writing this one, though I did tear up a bit... I'm just really sensitive. Anyway, I'm sorry it's been so long since an update; I've been trying to settle down in a new town, find a job, and figure out school. So yeah.   
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please leave a comment for any constructive criticism/critiquing. Or just to say hi. Whatever works. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to update soon!

Zevran’s trail of blood dissipates before finally disappearing for good. I am unsure of where to go now, because that trail has been my only navigator. I look up and around myself, seeing a very ominous door in front of me.

Sighing heavily, I march to the door, placing my hand on the cold handle, before pushing it open.

The large door opens into my father’s house; the place I was so comfortable living in before I left to become a Grey Warden, escaping my prison sentence. My father, mother, cousins Soris and Shianni are all bustling around the dinner table, placing extravagant dishes on the surface before turning to retrieve more.

I smile at the scene, knowing that this is how my life could have been once. My mother looks up from the basket of rolls she has placed on the table, noticing me in the doorway.

“Devnet, there you are!” She rushes to me, bringing me into her bosom. I haven’t felt my mother’s embrace in years. My memory is assaulted with images of when I was five; I had fallen, scraping my knees. I had begun to cry, and my mother ran out of the house to pick me up, comforting me. She had taken me into the house, setting me down on my bed, kissing my skinned knees to make them feel better--as all mothers’ kisses did. After wiping my tears away, she set me on her lap, and I buried myself into her arms.

It is no different now. Twenty years after that incident, and I still pull my mother as close to me as I can, relishing the feeling of her body next to mine.

“Mother, I have missed you so.” I whisper to her.

She pulls away, then tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Dear Dev, it’s only been a few hours since you’ve seen me last.” My mother sounds incredulous.

“I know, but it feels like it’s been twenty years.” I know that this is a dream, a reality that could never exist, but it is so wonderful to see my mother again, even if only a likeness.

“Dev?” A man’s voice calls my name, but it is not my father’s, or Soris’, or Zevran’s, not even Alistair. I turn to see Nelaros, my deceased fiance, stepping out of the corner bedroom, holding a child. Something tells me that this child is my son, the son I have with my husband, standing before me.

Walking to them, I take the child out of Nelaros’ arms. “Isn’t Cyrion Junior getting big?” Nelaros asks me, a smile crossing his face. The child leans into me, still tired from the nap his father apparently woke him from.

“He is, indeed.” I affirm, kissing the boy’s dark hair akin to my own.

“Mama!” The boy squeaks. He pulls his head from my shoulder, and looks at me.

His face is terrifying; crooked, pointed teeth, rotting skin, eyes blacker than the winter sky at midnight. The boy’s features are contorted with an evil smirk, and I set him down quickly.

I am reminded again that this is not the reality in which I belong. Nelaros is dead. My mother is dead. I left my family behind to become a Grey Warden. My name is Devnet Tabris, I am an elf, I am a Grey Warden. My companion, Wynne, sent me into the Fade so that she could heal my injuries I received while fighting darkspawn that had invaded our camp. I am in love with an elf named Zevran Arainai, who was originally sent to assassinate me and Alistair.

Thinking all of this to myself, I try to excuse myself from the festivities.

“Darling, don’t be ridiculous!” Nelaros says to me.

I look at him directly. “No. You are dead. I saw you die. It was our wedding day, the Arl’s son came into the Alienage, taking me, Shianni, and a few other women with him for Maker knows what. You and Soris came to save us, but when Soris and I went to find you, you were killed by the guard. Giving me your wedding ring, you breathed your last. This child is not my son. You are dead.”

Nelaros laughs incredulously. “My love, how can I be dead when I am standing right in front of you?” The child reaches for his father, and the man picks him up.

“You are not real. This is not real.” I turn to my mother’s likeness. “You were killed by humans a little less than ten years ago. I remember hearing about your death. You taught me well, but even the best rogues can be bested.”

She scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dev. I gave up that lifestyle after you were born.”

Now I am the one to scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous! You were always leaving for another quest. I know father hated it just as much as I did, and after you died, he was never the same. He was sad, and lost without you. The tattoos that now adorn my face? I have wanted them for a long time, but of course Father wouldn’t allow me to get them. One day, I did, just to spite him, just to try to enrage him enough to inject some life into his bones. It didn’t work, though, because he just wanted you. He’s only ever wanted you, spirit.” I don’t bother referring to this likeness as ‘Mother,’ or even by her name, because I know that my mother is dead, and this apparition is not her.

“Devnet Tabris, you will not speak to your mother that way,” my father inserts.

I turn to face him. “And you will no longer be allowed to live, demon.” Pulling my dual-swords from their sheaths, I brace myself for the fight.

“Cousin, don’t be ridiculous. Put the swords away.” Soris steps toward me, holding a hand out, trying to calm me. Knowing that this is a dream, or at least praying it is, I plunge my sword into his belly. He gasps, then falls after I pull my sword away.

My mother screams, Shianni tries to convince me not to do this, my father tries to push my mother out of the room. Sheathing my longsword and pulling out a dagger from my thigh holster in one smooth motion, I toss the dagger toward my parents. The dagger hits its mark--in my father’s head.

_It’s not real, Devnet. It’s not real. Your mother is dead. Your father is in the Alienage. Nelaros is dead. Soris is married to Velora. This is not real. You do not have a child. This is not real. This is not real._ I repeat this mantra to myself as my father falls to the ground.

The demon masquerading as my mother turns to me, an evil expression knitting her brows together, and pulling her lips into a scowl.

“You are smarter than I realized,” she hisses. The maternal tone that had made her voice musical is gone. I see now the demon that had been hiding under the guise of my mother.

She steps to the table, pulling a knife from one of the place settings. “Let’s see if anything I taught you actually sank into that thick, stupid skull.” She wields the knife high above her head, and I pull my longsword from its sheath again.

Blocking her first attack, I go in for a strike. She spins out of the way, and delves her knife into my flesh. Groaning from the pain, I step away from her, grasping her hand around the knife’s hilt. If I can keep the knife in my flesh, out of her hand, I will gain another weapon.

My plan is successful, and the knife remains lodged in my side while Adaia’s hand is freed from its hilt. I feel something gnawing at my ankles, and look down to see the demon that had been masquerading as my child trying to cut through my leather boots with its teeth. Lifting my leg and the demon with it, I kick quickly, expelling the demon to the wall, knocking it unconscious.

“Devnet! That’s our _son!_ ” Nelaros cries. I turn to him, and within three steps, I have gotten to him, and push my shortsword into his neck.

“Shame you have to die again, dear. But I’m not the marrying type.” I tell him as I watch the life ebb from his eyes.

_It’s not real, Devnet._ I remind myself, turning back to Adaia, who has picked up another knife, again coming at me.

I bring up one of my knees to collide with her belly, and cross my swords to block the attack. “You’re being too mindless with your attacks, _mother_.” I emphasize the word with malice, assuring the demon I know what it is, and that I will not be fooled by such disguises.

Stepping around her while she’s incapacitated, I shove my shortsword into her back. The demon turns, looking at me with murder in its eyes, and goes to stab me again. But I kick the knife from her hand, then push her down with my forearm. Once she is on the ground, I cross my blades over her throat.

“You think you can take my mother away from me, demon, but she was taken a long time ago.” These words are said with malice between tired breaths.

Pressing the blades into her neck, I pull them back, cutting two deep gashes. The blood spurts for a moment before stopping. Tears threaten to break my stoic composure, but I assure they are swallowed back. Now is not the time to cry.

I hear animalistic growling coming from the corner, and see the demon who was playing my child has woken, and grown. It now stands as tall as I, but I quickly have it defeated. Even so, the scuffle with that last demon has resulted in my blades being tossed away from me, and this wound in my side is threatening to steal my consciousness.

Turning away from the carnage, a blade is brought up into my belly, stopping in my chest, much like the wound that required me to face this challenge. My gaze following the knife in my chest, I see the fingers, arm, shoulder, neck, and finally the face of my attacker.

“Shianni…” I whisper. “I’m sorry.” I reach back, pulling the knife out of my side, and throw it into the demon’s neck. Shianni’s likeness staggers backward, then falls, breathing her last.

I look at the bodies of these demons who had been so cruel to pretend to be my family. I don’t know which was worse: seeing my lover be put through unimaginable torture before blaming me and walking away, or seeing the way my life could have been.

_The former. Definitely the former._  

The pain is overwhelming, and I fall to my knees. Trying to catch my breath, I reach around myself to try to stop the bleeding.

Slowly, I feel my consciousness waning away, and I think of Zevran, the love of my life. I pray, as my vision is edged with black, that I do not have to suffer through another bout of this torture.

My breath becomes more and more labored as my lungs fill with blood, and I finally succumb to the blackness.

 


End file.
